Page 62 of They're Watching You

The Remington who now glares at Annabelle through the bars certainly doesn’t look like the one in the photos.

Annabelle sighs. “I’ve never known anything but the society. The Games are my life. The society is my family. And when my father became embroiled inless-than-reputablebusiness dealings, it saved his career.” For a moment, her smug expression falters. “The society rescued him—rescued all of us.” So that’s it. Annabelle mentioned that her father had been a student at Torrey-Wells. He must’ve joined the society, and Annabelle is simply carrying on the legacy. “Now, are you going to listen to the rules?”

“We’re not doing this,” I spit.

“That’s up to you. But it would be an odd decision, considering what happens to whomever you can’t save.” She buttons her coat up higher and pulls on her hood, as if suddenly noting the chill down here. “The game is simple. Somewhere in this cell is a key to unlock the gate.” She digs into her coat pocket, removing a long, red ribbon that she ties onto a standing lantern out in the corridor. “Once you’re out, be the first to grab this ribbon. Whoever presents it tomorrow night receives an advantage in the tournament, where one girl will be freed, and one will become part of the conclusion ceremony.”

“You expect us to believe you’re going to let us walk away from all of this?”

“Walk away from all of this?” Annabelle frowns. “After the ceremony—after yousee, the idea will never cross your mind again.” She glances past me, her pupils large and devilish.

She spins on her heel, and I grip the bars so tightly the iron digs into my palms. “Annabelle, wait!”

When the sound of her heels clacking over the stone fades away, I’m suddenly aware that Remington’s pocketknife is in his grip, blade extended. I jerk away, and the backs of my thighs hit the bed.

“Oh, come on, Maren,” Remington says sharply. “This whole thing where you equate one kiss with Annabelle to me trying to sabotage you? It’s getting old.” He kicks a dirty mug, which shatters on contact with the wall. “I told you. I didn’t want to kiss her. But I did want to kiss you. That”—he shakes his head—“wasn’t an act.”

“Give me a little more credit,” I retort. “You’ve been shady since I met you. You have a never-ending supply of secrets.”

“I was trying to find Jane.”

I fiddle with the hem of the mangy bed linens. “Well, what are you doing with that?” I indicate his Swiss Army knife.

“Thought we might be able to pick the lock with it.”

“You don’t think there’s really a key?”

“No chance,” he says, moving to inspect the lock. “We lost whatever trust she had in us by sneaking you down here. Now that we know her plans, she’ll never release us from this cell.”

A cold rush of terror hits me. He’s right. I check my phone for a signal, but of course, there’s nothing. And to make matters worse, my battery is on its last leg. The time is 2:48 a.m. I reexamine the room, noting an empty water bottle beneath the bed and a tattered blanket balled up on the floor. A chess set lies in one corner, its pieces scattered about the board. Did Polly play this game alone? Or was Jane in here with her?

“The knife won’t be of any use,” Remington says finally, and I move closer. “We need something malleable. Don’t you have a bobby pin on you?”

I resist the urge to scream. “No, I don’t have a bobby pin on me. Last time I checked, I wasn’t a Pretty Little Liar.”

“You are pretty,” he says, that half-grin returning.

I roll my eyes and turn to face the rest of the room, throwing my hands up. “Can we use the knife to remove the stones?”

“If we had a lot more than twenty-four hours.”

My teeth are chattering, so I jog in place. “It’s freezing. How did Polly survive down here?” Near the end of soccer season, she used to leave my games at halftime because she couldn’t hack the cold. She preferred my basketball games inside the gym.

Remington begins to remove his coat, but I wave him off. “I’ll use this nasty blanket,” I say, lifting it between two fingertips and coughing as dust swarms the air.

“Don’t be so hardheaded.” He strides across the room, and before I can sidestep him, his arms envelop me. I stiffen, but he rubs my back, jostling me a bit until my blood seems to thaw and I barely even remember that the idea of us working together is senseless. Because only one of our friends can be saved. “Better?” he asks, running his hands up and down my arms, head pulling back to look at me.

“Mmhmm,” I mumble.

“Put this on.” He shrugs his coat off and stuffs me into it, one arm at a time. “You’re useless to our grand escape plan shivering like a drowning cat.” His fingers graze my wrist as he peers down at me.

“I’m good now. Besides, my plan is working. I’ll keep stealing layers of your clothes until you catch hypothermia. Then I’ll be able to search for the key by myself, thus winning this elusive advantage.”

The torch light illuminates Remington’s smirk before I realize what I’ve said. “Take what you want.”

My cheeks heat. “That’s not what—”

“Kidding, Maren.” He spins back to the gate. “Now help.”

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